


Waiting for Buttercup

by Shayheyred



Category: Princess Bride (1987)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 19:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shayheyred/pseuds/Shayheyred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Count Rugen addresses Prince Humperdinck's ennui</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting for Buttercup

"You seem...dare I say it... _glum,_ Your Highness."

Prince Humperdinck sighed a great, manly (or as close as he ever got to manly) sigh and flung himself into another artistic pose on the velvet chaise. "Ah, Tyrone. Yes, I am a bit glum. Or blue. Or at least a shade of blue. Pale blue. It's ennui, I fear."

The Count inclined his head in a minimal gesture of cordial deference. "Not a fatal case, I trust?"

"Hardly. No, it's just all this waiting for Buttercup to be fetched. I've nothing to occupy my mind." He sighed again, and found another pose. "Bored, bored, bored. Can't you entertain me?"

Rugen tapped his chin thoughtfully with his glove. "Hmmm. Perhaps Your Highness would care to observe a new form of torture I've developed?"

"New torture?" Humperdinck replied, with the merest hint of interest. "Do tell."

"Well, it involves Giant Mutated Leeches, you see, and the magnetic properties of--"

"Ugh, no." Humperdinck said, wrinkling his nose. "Leeches are so messy." He coughed delicately. "I think you've upset my stomach."

"Terribly sorry," Rugen murmured, but an ungenerous observer might have noted that the corner of his mouth lifted in something like a sadistic smile. "Let me see...ah! Would you enjoy a brisk ride in the woods, running down peasants? I can arrange a hunt for you--"

"No, no, I'll do that tomorrow. I'm not in the mood to leave the castle today. I might be coming down with something." Humperdinck dabbed at his nose petulantly. "I would think you would notice such a thing."

"My apologies, Your Highness. May I sit?"

The Prince waved his hand dismissively. "Whatever. Damn it. I'd hoped to be enjoying Buttercup's bounteous goodies right about now. Alas, I shall have to postpone my pleasure." He adjusted his codpiece in a graphic display of lewdness. "I hope they bring her back soon. Don't know if I can hold out much longer." He leered in Rugen's direction. "I tell you, Rugen, my _mother's_ beginning to look good to me."

"Well, isn't that, er, _extraordinary_. I see Your Highness requires indoor recreation." Count Rugen sat down next to the Prince on the chaise. Honestly, Rugen thought, inbreeding had apparently reached its zenith - or nadir - with Prince Humperdinck. Still, for an idiot, Humperdinck had very entertaining notions regarding torture and pleasure, notions of which he happened to approve. _I wonder..._ "Your Highness...?"

"Mmmm?"

"If you'll allow me, I have an idea of how to pass the time while we wait for your Bride to return to you." He moved closer, and placed one hand on Humperdinck's thigh. "Trust me?"

Humperdinck blinked in surprise. "Tyrone! I...I had no idea."

"Really? Your Highness is irresistible to all." He smiled and leaned very close, pitching his voice into an oily imitation of sincerity. "I thought you knew."

Humperdinck swallowed noisily. "Well, of course that's true. Everyone adores me."

"So...?" Rugen's hand slid higher. "I can show the advantage of having six fingers..."

"Well." The Prince cleared his throat. "All right."

* * *

Somewhat later Rugen stood up and readjusted his own codpiece. He felt quite good, and rather full of himself, in point of fact. All he needed now was a quick round of torture down in the dungeon, and the day would be perfection indeed. "Well, I'll be off now, shall I?"

"Rugen," the Prince muttered from where he lay. "That was certainly...interesting."

"Glad you enjoyed it."

"I did. Although, Tyrone--" He rearranged himself and winced. "I'm not so sure about that last bit. I don't think I'll go riding tomorrow after all."

* * *


End file.
